There Are Worse Things Than a Gyrating Elvis
by Fiery Wordess
Summary: The title should say enough but since you seem to be keen on reading more then CLICK IT AND READ!
1. Gyrate Baby!

There are Worse Things than a Gyrating Elvis

Perhaps the sky was too bright for the old man as he squinted out into the school yard, but it made him look mad and that wasn't the first time the girls had gone about imitating his bizarre style.  He wore a moldy overcoat and overalls that were stained by mud and some unidentifiable brown substance that smelled old and smelly.  Georgia, Jas and Rosie walked by, hiking their skirts up to irritate Hawk-Eye.  They caught Elvis staring and Georgia, in a burst of inspiration shook her bum around madly.

"Dance that dirty way Elvis!"  Lucky for her Elvis had an earwax build-up at the moment but he growled anyway.

"Ooh, that dirty old man, he turns me on."  Said Rosie.

"You frighten me sometimes, but I suppose I should be used to you."  Georgia said.  "After all, you are dating a mad lad named Sven so what is to be expected of your twisted mind?"

"I wonder if Tom can go out tonight."  Jas tugged on her fringe and Georgia was forced to slap her hand.  "Ow!"

"Stop that, you look a prat."  Georgia stated.

"She's right."  Rosie nodded.  "I get the urge to beat you every time I see you doing that."

"Then why don't you?"  Georgia asked.  "Nothing stops me."

"Well… you shouldn't, it isn't proper to duff your friend."  Jas whined.

"Stick a cork in it woman."  They walked out through the gates and took off their berets once they were sure Hawk-Eye couldn't see them any longer.  

"Aiee!  Does my hair look okay?"  Rosie asked, patting it compulsively.

"A little frizzy but that goes without saying."  Georgia responded, smoothing her own hair.

"Why hello!  How are you lovely ladies?"  Dave the Laugh came up behind the three girls.  Georgia tuned faintly scarlet but grinned, praying that her nose would stay in place.  Jas resisted tutting but Rosie just smiled.  

"We're just fabbity fab fab fab!"  Georgia babbled.  "Having the time of our lives walking this road, we are."

"Then I shall join you for this fabbity little occasion, after all, what day is complete without a fabbity walk with three gorgeous girls?"

"I couldn't tell you, I always walk with us."  Georgia laughed.  Sven came close behind Dave and picked up Rosie from behind.  

"I have my bird!"  He said.  

"Yes, yes you do!  Put me down Sven!"  Rosie laughed hysterically while squirming to get down from the 2 meter giant.

"Jah."  He put her down.  "You are on the floor again my sweet."

Sven had come home the month earlier, much to Rosie's delight.  The summer holidays were approaching which meant many good things, such as freedom and no more non-freedom at school.  

"Jas!"  Cried out a lad.  "Jas!  Come here!"  Tom was rushing behind them, giving Georgia a quick glance before tugging Jas away.

"What is it?"

"I have to tell you something… maybe… er… just come on."  Tom pulled her away to behind a tree.

"What are they doing?"  Rosie asked.

"Tom is going to ask her to marry him and to co-own the veggie shop."  Georgia said grimly.

"Really?"  

"Like I have a bloody clue.  Jas will call me tonight I am sure and properly announce their engagement."  

"That reminds me," said Dave, "I've been meaning to ask you if you'd be willing to marry me, oh Sven dear." 

"Jah!  What are you saying lad?"  Everyone collapsed into hysterics as Sven grinned stupidly.  

"Oh, tonight there's a dance at the dance-y place.  Are you game?"

"As always."  Georgia grinned.

"I am away laughing on a fast camel!"    

"You are such a hussy."  Jas scolded as Sven and Dave walked away.

"Does Ellen know yet?"  Rosie asked.  "Not that I really care but you might."  Rosie pushed her glasses up her nose.

"No, I don't think she really needs to know.  After all, I am the girlfriend of a sex god who lives in Kiwi-a-go-go land."

"Hm.  He's probably out humping sheep right now."  Rosie said enthusiastically.

"Erlack!  I hope you are wrong."

"Have I ever been wrong?"  

"Yes."

"Oh.  So I'll see you at the dance-y thing tonight."

What none of the girls could have known was that the horrors of the night might keep them awake for eternity.

                                                        *****     

Mr. Attwood sat in his cabin, chugging whiskey and wiping his mouth on the back of his filthy hand.  His wife was currently in New Zealand and his "special" magazines were spread all over.  He found a picture of people dancing.

"Erp!  Why not?"  He belched loudly.  "I'll go!  That I will!"  Elvis, determined to have some fun whilst his wife was away stood and looked around for some clean overalls.  "Aiee!"  He collapsed to the ground and laughed manically as he attempted to stand.  At eight o'clock that night he left his smelly house and began to head to the dance club.

                                                        *****

"Does my lippy look all right?"  Jas smacked her lips together.  "Ooh!  There's Tom!"  Jas got all giggly.  Rosie was busy gibbering to Sven and Georgia was talking to Dave, laughing.  The band struck up and Dave whipped Georgia onto the dance floor.  

"Ah!"  Georgia shrieked as she saw the most disturbing visual in the world.  The English children clapped as a mad old man danced in the middle, busting some moves.  

"Jah!  Jah!"  Sven jumped into the middle of the circle and joined the man.  

"NO SVEN!  NO!"

"Elvis is dead!"  Georgia cried out.  "Why, oh why did I have to see this?"

Mr. Attwood jiggled his hips some and all the girls from Stalag 14 were forced to flee the scene in terror.                 


	2. Quelle un Mystery!

(Note: there are some English words in here, if you have any questions you can put them in your beloved review and I'll answer in the next chapter.  Also, this wouldn't be here right now had I not recently gotten a review.  Thank you Mezzy-Ezzy-Maxican.  You name pleases me and so did your review.)

"Jas, Jas, Jas!  I don't know how you can look at yourself in the bloody mirror after what we just saw!"  Georgia cried in hysterics.  

"What did we just see?"

"Elvis!  Gyrating!  DRUNKENLY!"  Rosie's muffled sobs came from a pillow.

Jas bit her lip.  "You know, there are worse things than a gyrating Elvis."

"Oh, name one."  Georgia glared at Jas.

"Well, you know."  Jas went back to the mirror.  "Things."

"Name some."

"Don't."  Rosie argued.  "My brain doesn't want to know."

"But mine does."  Georgia said promptly.  

The doorbell rang and Rosie rushed to answer it.  There were excessive kissing noises and Jas rolled her eyes.

"What aren't you telling me, Jas?"  Georgia hissed.

Jas blushed.  "I'm wearing a thong."

"I already knew."  Georgia said hurriedly.  "But honestly, what's larking you?"

"Something Tom told me earlier today."

"Do continue."

"Georgia!  Jas-y Poo!"  Dave came in with Tom by his side.  "Dahhh-ling!  It's been a long time!"

"Tom, could we have a minute please?"  Georgia asked.

"Georgia, no."  Jas grabbed her sleeve.  "Don't-."

"Jas is pregnant?"  Rosie's eyes widened.

"Where the bloody hell did you get that?"  Dave asked.

"Jas is getting fat."  Rosie joked.

"Am not!"  Jas ran away to look at her profile in the mirror.

"Tom, what did you tell Jas earlier today that's worse than a gyrating Elvis?"

Tom blushed.  "She didn't tell you?"

"Clearly not!"  Georgia cried.  "Why the bloody hell would I ask you if I already knew?"

"Er… I'll tell you tomorrow, shall I?"

"No, you'll tell me now!"

"Can't.  Sorry.  Tell Jas I'll see her tomorrow."  And Tom left.  Georgia tried to run out the door after him but Sven picked her up and kissed her on both cheeks.

"Bush bird!"  He crowed happily.

*****

Mr. Attwood had never had such a hangover.  He decided to call his wife; he deserved to be yelled at for awhile.  It would convince him that the headache was not so bad.

_Damned phone!  Where the hell is it?  He found it under a pair of sodden pants and was repulsed by the smell.  He wished he hadn't gotten so pissed.  Wasn't exactly his most brilliant move._

He dialed the number of his wife's hotel.

"Hello?"

"Hey, I was completely smashed last night."

"Oh, me too.  I've got the worst hangover."

Mr. Attwood was shocked.  His wife was anti-alcohol as the next religious freak.

"You… you were?"

"You were there R-."  She paused.  "Frank?"

"Um, yes?"  There was another pause.  "Who was there, Isabel?"

"No one."  There was a knocking sound in the background.  "Hold on, Frank."  There was a muffled _come in from her end.  Then, to Mr. Attwood's utter horror there was an _I___ missed you so much today, babe.  And even worse a: __hold on, my… spouse is on the phone.  _

"Frank?  I've got to go, an… important client."

"You don't have…" Click.  "Clients."

                                                        *****

"There sits Elvis in HEARTBREAK HOTEL!"  Georgia sang horribly off-key.  Jas hadn't shown up in school that day so Georgia and Rosie were alone on the grounds.  Elvis wasn't his usual evil self, in fact, his was bizarrely quiet.  He didn't even criticize Georgia's caterwauling.

"What's eating you, Elvis?"  Rosie asked.  

"The worms."  Georgia explained.  "See, he's dead, but he still doesn't know it."  They started to leave the school grounds.  "I'm just glad he's not dancing."

"Hey!  You two!"  Elvis called out hoarsely.

"NO!  We swear we didn't see you last night-."

"Do you know anyone in New Zealand?"

Rosie and Georgia stared at each other in confusion.  "Yes…?"  Rosie answered.

"Oh.  Possibly a boy, a bit older than you?"

"Yeah."  Georgia looked crookedly at Elvis.  "But you're not going to make moves on him, are you?  He doesn't swing that way."

Elvis glared angrily.  "No."  And forgot what his next question was going to be.  


	3. Roman Nose

(A/N: Well, it's not the best in the west, but I'm in the east.  We call it New York.  Anyway, it's the diligent reviewing squad I've got that made me spit this out.  Thanks.  It's usually a shocker to see people know this fic exists because I don't usually update.  I don't have much time, so c'est la vie.  Regarde the long awaited happy place.)  

"I don't know why it bothers you so much."  Rosie rubbed her temples while Georgia kept watch over Jas's house.  "I mean, it's probably some stupid secret that doesn't even matter!"

"That's why it bugs me!  I know every, stupid, meaningless secret!"  

"Tell you what, let's call Dave."  Rosie offered.  "He's always a laugh…."

"But you see, laughing with Dave makes me feel guilty because he makes me want to snog him snog-less and if I were to snog him, even without the snogging snog-less part I would be cheating on Robbie and that reminds me that he's off in Kiwi-a-go-go land and… oh wonderful, that just reminded me of Elvis because he asked if we knew anyone from there."  Georgia jolted.

"Robbie!"  She and Rosie chimed.

"Of course!  I'll bet Robbie is cheating on you!"  Rosie slapped her forehead.  "That's what's worse than a gyrating Elvis."

"That's not worse, that's just tear-making.  And why would he cheat on me anyway?"

"He's miles away and he's a sex-god."  Rosie said sagely.  "That's why Tom knows!  He's probably writing to Tom about some babe in New Zealand."

"No!"  Georgia sobbed falsely into her hands.  "I guess I'll have to resort to loving solely Dave… sad that I had to lose such a sex-god…."

"You're taking this very well."  Rosie glared suspiciously at Georgia.

"Come off it!  You don't honestly believe that anyone in Kiwi-a-go-go is more attractive and sexilicious than the fabulous _moi?"_

"No!  Of course not!"

"Liar."

"My point is simply that men have male snake addendums and they do get… excited from time to time…."

"I'll humor you and come to another point.  Elvis.  Why would _he _know Robbie was cheating on me?"

"Dunno.  Shall we ask then?"

"Are you mad?  Talk to Elvis?  Like another human?"  Georgia's eyes bulged out of her skull.  "When I do this, does it make my nose look smaller?"  She continued to widen her eyes.

"Georgia, your nose isn't big.  It's just a funny shape."

"Oh thanks."

"It's called Roman."

"We're not in Rome and that makes it FUNNY?"

"We're off the point."

"Elvis is disturbing.  Damn the bleeding Americans for allowing him to escape…."

To Georgia's horror, Rosie dragged her off to speak with Mr. Attwood.  His hut was spouting smoke from the chimney as though the weather were less than warm.  Gray clouds began to roll in from all directions, promising rain.  

"That," Rosie started, pointing upward, "is a bad omen."  She observed Georgia through her glasses.  Georgia suddenly had the urge to rip them off and stomp on them.  

"Don't be a prat, Rosie.  Elvis will just tell us he was drunk again."

That didn't stop Rosie from knocking.  Three times.

"Enough already!"  Came a bark from inside.  "Hold on to your knickers."

"Rosie…."

The door opened.  Mr. Attwood was squinting at them, smelling strongly of some alcoholic beverage or another.  In his left hand was a magazine and in his right, the door handle.  

"What do you two want?"  He slurred.

"Ugh."  Georgia covered her nose.  Inwardly she thought _And_ that's no small feat.__

"Why did you want to know about our chum in New Zealand?"  Rosie asserted.

Mr. Attwood thought for a moment and then burst into tears, falling to the floor.

Georgia and Rosie looked at one another with horror but simultaneously dragged the wailing caretaker to his feet and pulled him into a chair.  His dingy hut was overrun by empty mugs and bottles.  His unmade bed could be seen through the open door of his bedroom.  

"Um… Mr. Attwood?"  Georgia startled herself by saying that much.  She had never referred to him by his proper name.  "Are… you okay?"

"No I'm bloody not!"  He wiped his runny nose on his arm.  

Rosie and Georgia grimaced.  "What's wrong?"  They asked.

"My wife… she's… with that bloody bloke of yours… Robbie."

"What?"  Georgia asked stupidly.  "You've gotta be wrong.  You're bloody smashed; you don't know what you're…."  Mr. Attwood shoved a letter into Rosie's hand.

"'Dear Frank… I'm leaving you.  Robbie is everything you're not.  I no longer find you the wonderful young man you once were.  And the girls at that school…'"  Rosie trailed off.

 "What?"  Georgia snapped.  "Oh Goddy-god-god!  We're in a pedophile's house!?"

"No."  Rosie shook her head.  "Apparently we remind her of what she once was and she couldn't stand us.  Robbie understands her."

"Agh!  That is TWENTY times worse than a gyrating Elvis!"  

They left Mr. Attwood getting pissed in his house while they dragged their feet all the way to Jas's.

"I can't believe it.  I bloody can't believe it.  Why?  How?"  Rosie stuttered.

"I thought wet Lindsay was bad…."  Georgia frowned.  "I knew there was something weird about our relationship.  Is there a name for a lad who fancies old ladies?"

"Dunno."  Rosie stared at the ground.

"I think I'm going to shoot myself."

"Don't."  Rosie said automatically.  "Well, actually, if I were you I might just consider."

"Thanks."

They heard a slamming door and slapping footsteps.

"You've just heard, haven't you?"  Jas was out-of-breath. 


	4. Sympatheticosnosity

"Jas!" Georgia wailed. "Jas! My best pallie! How could you _do _this to me?"

Jas and Rosie looked on with a mixture of sympatheticnosity and horror.

"Do what to you?" Jas asked. "Not tell you? Well, I just didn't want you to wind up like…."

"NO! You introduce me to a SEX GOD," Georgia blew her nose on yet another tissue. "He is stolen from me by sheep and kiwis, and then taken further from my cradle of love by some mad," _sniff,_ "old,"_ snark,_ "WOMAN!"

The doorbell downstairs rang. Jas blushed and excused herself from her room.

Rosie looked at Georgia and then whispered: "Where are the letters to Po?"

"In that box," Georgia sobbed. "The queer-looking one with paint and Jas's n-n-name on it."

"Brilliant," Rosie tore it open and began to read.

Just then the door burst open again and in came the Ace-Gang, carrying much chocolate and concerned faces. Rosie had retreated into the crowd to stuff a letter down her shirt and toss the rest back into Jas's frilly, pink box. Georgia was immediately engulfed in sobbing comrades. The ordeal ended with a romantic movie and more chocolate. Georgia, sniffling, thanked her friends and then realized something.

"Wait, how did you all know about this?"

"Oh Gee," Mabbs sighed. "Jas can't keep a secret any better than you can hide your red-bottom."

"There's a simile even the Bird of Avon would be proud of." Jools nodded sagely.

An hour later, Georgia went home, face tear-streaked but heart considerably lightened.

"Why do you hate me Lord Buddha or God? What have I done wrong? You gave me my great, red bottom and you have made me exploit it!" Georgia shook her fist at the skies. "And all for nothing! This is the last straw! I am becoming a… oooh… a… what's-it." Georgia ran into the house past her parents, who were blathering as usual and grabbed the phone.

"See? She barges right in without so much as a hello and goes to the phone," Mr. Nicolson shook his head, which caused his second chin to wobble unattractively. "We're nothing more than a free hotel service for her."

_You'd do well to remember that, you old coot. _Georgia made a face at her father and dialed Jas's number.

"Hello?"

"Jas. What's that word?"

"What word?"

"The word for someone who doesn't believe in God?"

"An atheist?"

"That's it." And Georgia slammed down the phone and ran back out the door to finish her sentiments to the sky. "I WILL BECOME AN ATHIEST! HAHA!" She turned back into the house and was suddenly pinned down by a great, pink something.

"Gingey! I'm going to go surfing in the U.F.O.!" Libby stood bare-bottomed on top of Georgia, moving around and pretending to surf.

"I think you mean U.S.A."

"Hush! Bad surf boy! Bad!"

"Mum!" Georgia squealed. "I can't take this right now!"

To Georgia's surprise, her mother came in clucking her tongue and pulling Libby off of her.

"I'm so sorry to hear about… things." Her mother muttered softly.

"What?"

"Oh, Jas's mum told me."

"What?"

"It's quite all right, dear, it happens to the best of us."

"How would _you _know? You're not the best of us! I'm not even the best of us! I'm the worst of us! And the worst of us hates the world!" Georgia stood and ran wailing to her bedroom and slammed the door. "I hate you God!" She frowned. "I mean… No-God!"

"We should go and get her," Dave said, looking up at Georgia's window. "I mean, we all need a little Georgia."

"She says she doesn't want to leave her house," Jas said, twirling her fringe around her finger.

"You know that means she wants us to beg her to leave."

"Of course. But I never cater to that. Besides, look where we are. Right outside of her window. Obviously she wants us to demean ourselves for her amusement."

"A fine friend you are. Let's go serve her some plotting."

"Plotting?" Rosie looked intrigued. "What sort of plotting are we plotting?"

"A plotful plot full of plotty goodness." Dave wiggled his eyebrows.

"Lost," Tom and Sven chimed.

"Oh, let's say it involves a plane, some espionage and a bit of irrational dancing."

The window finally burst open and Georgia stuck her head out. "Irrational dancing?"

"Oh yes, _ma chérie_, much irrational dancing indeed!" Dave stuck his arms out and demonstrated.

"Jah!" Sven started doing some odd sort of Russian jig.

"Sven!" Rosie grabbed his shoulders to get him to hold still. "The plan involves irrational dancing, not the delivery of the plan."

"Hokey-pokey."

"Sven…." Rosie laughed.

Sven, Rosie, Dave, Jas and Tom tramped into Georgia's bedroom and thus began one of the greatest planning of all times.

Second only to Napoleon's planning.

Well, probably more twenty-second because there were a great deal of talented people who weren't them.

The plan took shape like a cloud, only, more gassy and less liquidy, since it mostly consisted of words. But you can't know the plan yet. No. It's still being properly formulated and even Libby and Angus were banned from the bedroom for this plotting. And even Non-God was. And Buddha. And God.

(A/N: I should update soonish. Maybe. Possibly. If anyone reads this I'll be astounded because I've taken so long to update peevish blush)


	5. Well of Eternal Earwax

They were dressed entirely in black. In was code name: Plan Noire, thus the clothes.

"Flight 317 for Sicily is boarding," a woman's voice echoed throughout the terminal.

"We're up soon," Rosie peeked at her watch.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Jas grumped.

"You didn't have to come," Georgia reminded her.

Dave quirked an eyebrow devilishly at her. "As I recall, you threatened her life if she didn't."

"Details."

"Flight 413 for New Zealand, now boarding,"

"That's us,"

"Groan,"

"Shut up, Jas,"

They pulled out their passports and got in line. The line moved like molasses in winter. In other words, it hardly moved at all.

"What is going on?" Jas asked impatiently.

Georgia looked to the front of the line. "It looks like Grand Twit of the Universe is up there unprepared, _sans_ passport."

"Well, why can't we go around?"

"Because, love muffin, that would make life far too easy, wouldn't it?"

Jas muttered something incomprehensible.

When they finally arrived to the front of the line, Sven made a scene by making a show of dancing for the ticket collector and dancing _with_ the stunned elderly lady. It took much cajoling to get him onto the plane.

"Please excuse our friend," Georgia said. "He thinks he's a Viking and that by dancing with you, he will make his way into the glorious halls of Valhalla."

The woman pressed a hand to her heart and just stared blankly.

The six friends toppled into the plane and took their respective seats. Dave and Georgia took the middle and window seats of a three-seat-er. Rosie and Sven took two more behind them and Tom and Jas disappeared into the front rows somewhere.

"So, my red-bottomed pallie," Dave began. "We have a many-hour flight of just you and I—"

"Excuse me," and elderly man of no small girth arrived. His face was as wrinkled as a raisin and no less juicy. He had the loud voice of someone either on his cell phone in public or the elderly mad. "I think this is my seat." He pointed to where Dave sat.

"I don't," Dave disagreed in a voice of equal volume. "But this one may be yours,"

The old man blinked vapidly. "Oh,"

He took his heavy bag and lifted it slowly into the overhead compartment. While he reached up, his large, squashy, very hairy belly became exposed from underneath his moist shirt.

"He's a handsome fellow, don't you think?" Dave muttered to Georgia.

"I leave him to you, Mr. Horn,"

"Too kind,"

The man sat heavily in his seat, wheezing noisily. He reached down and groped for his belt buckle. Georgia and Dave had trouble looking away, transfixed by the man's slowness of motion. Then began the long hegira involving putting it around his waist.

"You don't think he might cause a plane crash, do you?" Dave whispered.

Georgia shook her head. "I don't fancy we'll get off the ground to begin with,"

"Do you think he ought to wear black? It's a very slimming color."

"Perhaps then he would be able to disappear into the night like a phantom in pants,"

Georgia and Dave laughed madly.

There was a dinging sound and the flight attendant began her safety speech.

"We could always use this guy for a float," Dave commented after she was done.

"Or a hot air balloon,"

"S'cuse me," the man called over to Georgia noisily. "D'you think you could pass me tha' catalog?"

"Yes!" Georgia shouted back. "Here you go!"

They were jerked back in their seats as the plane began to move. It wasn't long before they were airborne. Hardly ten minutes passed before old bloaty was asleep, snoring loudly.

"Wow," Dave scrutinized the man in slumber. "Take a look. He has an eternal fountain of earwax."

Georgia looked. "Cor! That is disgusting. I will never look at Elvis the same way again. This man takes the metaphorical pie for cootiest coot alive."

"I don't think I'll be able to sit next to this bloke the entire ride, Gee. He smells a lot like… fecal pudding."

"You're a loon, aren't you?"

Fortunately, the man didn't awaken the entire flight. It was the five minutes after landing in New Zealand that they tried to poke him into consciousness, not out of concern that he'd miss his transit but that they might not be able to escape around his beached whale body. He thanked them in a loud voice and spent another five minutes unbuckling and getting his bag. They waited until he had gotten entirely off of the plane before they rose and made a dash for freedom.

Sven, Rosie, Jas and Tom waited for them in the dark terminal. It was night in Kiwi-a-go-go land, but the weather was no cooler than one might expect.

"What took you?" Jas asked through a yawn.

"A bloke with too many backsides,"

Tom checked his watch. "Should we hail a cab then?"

"If funds permit," Dave tapped his pocket. "It's not too far away."

"Let's walk then! It will be a walk _avec mystère_." Rosie said eagerly.

"And _avec _lethargy," Jas groaned.

"Where's your spirit of adventure, Jas-y poo?" Rosie punched in the shoulder.

"Jah! Jazzy-poo!" Sven punched her too, which knocked her off balance.

"We're in a foreign country at an ungodly hour—"

"I don't believe in God," Georgia asserted. "But I like to keep my religious ideology private."

"—with no real sense of…."

"I know where we're going, Jas," Tom said kindly. "I've been here before, remember?"

"Oh," Jas flushed. "Of course you do, Tom,"

(AN: Um, I'm mostly free this summer, but I'm going to college in August. I'll try and plan out all of Plan Noire before next post, then I'll finish this sucker up. Thanks to everyone loony enough to still read this!)


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